Any Other Love Story
by orchidcactus
Summary: Because it's not always life and death and angst. f!Hawke/Fenris.


Rating: M

Pairing: f!Hawke/Fenris

Warnings: None.

A/N: Because it isn't always life and death and angst. Four vignette-style scenes which take place after _Sleep Without Dreams_ and _Old Habits_, but before the next story of the series.

* * *

><p><strong>Any Other Love Story<strong>

Fenris lays in his bed, hands laced behind his head, watching from the corner of his eye as Hawke dresses.

"Don't look so smug." She hops on one leg as she tries to force her opposite foot into a twisted pant-leg. Fenris starts to tell her that the garment is turned wrong-side out, but smiles instead.

When she stumbles into the bed and falls backward onto the mattress, he rolls to his side and embraces her, trapping her arms to her sides.

He kisses the curve of her ear, and says in a voice too hoarse to be his own, "Take them back off."

-o-

The last of the slavers comes at him, daggers held low. Fenris steps to the side at the last moment, using the flat of his blade to slap the man across the rear.

An ice spell cracks through the air before the slaver takes another step. In the spell's wake, Fenris' breath comes in puffs of white as the vapor freezes in the air.

"We could take him to Aveline for questioning," Varric says doubtfully. "Or," he swings Bianca around until the crossbow is pointed at the still form, "thaw him out and I'll spare him that misery."

Hawke walks slowly around the frozen man, stopping to stand shoulder to shoulder with Fenris. She looks at the crest marking the slaver's armor and tilts her head like her mabari examining vermin just before he attacks. "Fenris? Doesn't that crest belong to..."

"Capios. The nephew." Fenris says and then spits; disgusted that three short words could dredge such bitterness from him.

"Aw, shit," Varric says and backs quickly out of range. The rogue knows Hawke as well as Fenris does.

Fenris is unsurprised by the anger in her eyes or the reckless smile she tries to conceal it with. "Do it," she says without stepping from his side.

Fenris inclines his head in a brief nod. He doesn't have to speak the words, but chooses to. "I am yours to command." Without hesitating, he swings his sword at the slaver, his full weight behind the blade.

As the ice rains down, Hawke steps in front of him and hooks the tips of her fingers in his belt. She pulls their bodies together and then casts a spell. The worst of the frozen gore cracks and hisses as it bounces from the Fade shield she's woven.

Her body is warm where she fits against him, a sharp contrast to the ice she casts. She seems to realize how closely she's holding him and this too delights her.

"Elf? In any other love story, you'd kiss her now," Varric calls out.

The word startles him and Hawke's eyes register surprise as well. _Love._ He shies from the thought. "Hawke, I -"

She interrupts him by pressing her lips to his.

-o-

Fenris lays down his cards carefully, taking the time to deliberately separate each of the cards from its neighbors so Hawke can clearly see the suits. "I believe-" he taps the topmost King and lifts an eyebrow, "I win. Again."

"Fuck," she says, tossing her hand onto the table. She leans back in her chair and affects a pout, staring into the fire. Fenris finds his eyes drawn the shape of her bare shoulder where it meets the thin curve of her collarbone.

She crosses her arms under the cloth that wraps around her, binding her breasts, pushing them up. He shakes head at the deliberate ploy. He is not so easily distracted.

"Your vocabulary would shame a sailor," he chides. He picks up his wine glass, watching the liquid swirl as he rolls the stem between his fingers."You did agree to these terms."

"Easy for you to say. You still have your pants," she says and stands, pushing back her chair. She walks around the table and stand before him, one hand on her waist. He doesn't miss the way her fingertips move over her hip where the side-tie of her smalls dimples her skin. "So. Winner's choice." She bites her lip, a gesture which fails to hide the way she smirks and gestures at her remaining clothing.

He stands up slowly, not taking his eyes from hers. He places a hand on her shoulder, palm fitting into the place his eyes traced moments before. He pushes gently until she yields and backs a step away from the table and chairs. He'll need room for this.

He takes one of her wrists in his hand, lifting it to rest on the crown of her head. She starts to speak but he silences her with a quick shake of his head as he repeats the process with the other hand.

The end of the cloth wrapped around her chest is tucked under itself, just above her sternum. He carefully tugs the end free. He holds this between two fingers and steps to her right, walking in a circle around her.

Hawke tilts her head back under linked hands and laughs at the ceiling. "Clever."

"Thank you," he says as he moves around her again. This time he trails a finger along the line just above the cloth, watching as gooseflesh forms in the space between her shoulder blades. Later he will kiss and warm her skin there, but for now he continues around to face her once more.

The slack goes from the cloth as the portion he holds uncovers the far end, and the binding slides from her.

Hawke smiles at him. "Can I put my hands down now?"

"No," he says. He runs his fingertips over the swell of one breast, once again admiring the way her skin reacts to his touch.

"Then can we talk about my vocabulary?"

He blinks, confused.

She drops her hands. Before he can scold her for not following his instructions, she pulls the cloth from him. She loops it around his wrist and uses it to draw his arm around her. Then she whispers in his ear. "I thought you liked my dirty mouth."

-o-

He's only seen Hawke this angry once. Were he a better man, Fenris might feel some measure of pity for Anders because Hawke isn't holding back.

She and the abomination are toe to toe, shouting at one another. Even though the entire length of the Bone Pit is between the pair and where Fenris and Varric wait, Fenris can still feel the way the Veil ripples around them.

"Almost feel sorry for him." Varric is cleaning drake's blood from under his nails. The two mages have been arguing long enough that the dwarf has had time to clean and polish his crossbow. Bianca gleams from her place against Varric's back.

"Not really," Fenris answers, then lowers himself to the shade offered by a boulder. "I believe Hawke's saying about reaping what you sow applies."

"True." Varric sighs and sits down next to Fenris. "She really doesn't suffer fools or liars."

Fenris says nothing. Varric knows he finds Anders to be both.

"Shitty thing, dragging us into the sewers like that." Varric chuckles at his own joke. "You wonder what he really wanted that stuff for?"

Fenris leans his head back against the rock behind him. "Yes. No." He frowns and considers the issue. "I would not trust any answer he would give."

Varric shifts in the sand, wincing as a particularly foul string of curses reaches them. "Damn." Then the dwarf looks at Fenris sharply. "Wait. That's... You're teaching her to curse in other languages now? Care to tell me why?"

Fenris closes his eyes. "Expanding her vocabulary."


End file.
